


waiting for the hint of a spark

by nightswatch



Series: transatlanticism [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their break-up, Grantaire starts writing depressing songs and Enjolras takes up knitting. Despite those marvelous distractions, they still can't quite forget about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waiting for the hint of a spark

“You’re not coming?”

Courfeyrac was doing nothing to hide his disappointment. Honestly, Enjolras hadn’t expected him to. He was a little disappointed in himself.

He’d thought he’d be able to go. He’d thought he’d be happy to see Grantaire. But the mere thought of having to talk to Grantaire, of having to look at him and being reminded again and again that they weren’t together anymore made him feel nauseous.

“Tell him I said hi,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “Tell him I got held up at work. He’ll understand.”

“Are you sure?” Combeferre asked. He sat down across from him, watching him intently. Combeferre was still worried about him, Enjolras could tell.

Enjolras had told him and Courfeyrac that he and Grantaire had decided to take a break. They’d hugged him and they’d tried to cheer him up and Courfeyrac had told him over and over again that taking a break wasn’t the same thing as breaking up. Except that it was.

Enjolras had let Grantaire know when they’d safely made it back to Paris. They’d exchanged some sporadic messages. Then Enjolras had been out of things to say to Grantaire and Grantaire had obviously been out of things to say to him as well. It wasn’t the same as before, even though they’d told themselves that they could still talk, that they were _not breaking up_.

But now they hadn’t talked in weeks and Enjolras just couldn’t bring himself to go to that show.

“But what if he…” Courfeyrac bit his lip. “What if he wants to talk?”

“You mean what if he wants to break up with me for good? I mean, it basically already happened. I’m just making things easier for both of us.”

“You don’t know that,” Courfeyrac protested loudly. “I bet he misses you. Just as much as you miss him.”

“I really can’t go.”

“But what if he thinks that–”

“Then that’s what he thinks,” Enjolras interrupted. Them breaking up for good had just been a matter of time ever since he’d left New York. He might as well get it over with now.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre threw in, “don’t you think you owe him–”

“I can’t go,” Enjolras said again. He was being a coward and he felt horrible about it, but he couldn’t possibly face Grantaire tonight.

“Give us a call if you change your mind,” Combeferre said stiffly and Enjolras knew that he’d pissed him off and he also knew that Combeferre had every right to be pissed off with him, yet he only nodded and watched Combeferre and Courfeyrac leave, both of them wearing the shirts they’d got from Grantaire only a couple of weeks ago.

Enjolras stared down at his feet for a moment, then he shuffled back down the hall to his room, ignoring the moving boxes that were stacked next to Courfeyrac’s door. He picked up his laptop and took it over to his bed, determined that he’d at least try to be productive tonight.

He could update his blog, write a few lines about his new job, about how they were supporting people. He’d been far too busy during the past few week, had barely had time for anything, because he’d wanted to make sure that he didn’t do anything wrong at work, that he knew all the procedures, and it had proven to be rather distracting.

Of course he’d still thought about Grantaire. In fact, he’d thought about Grantaire in every waking minute that he hadn’t spent working. Enjolras had missed him, _still_ missed him, but that was to be expected and that was what he kept telling himself.

He needed to look at things rationally instead of wallowing in self-pity. They’d made the right decision. It was quite obvious now that they’d broken up back in New York. Maybe it had just been easier to say that they were taking a break instead of admitting to what they were actually doing. Deep down Enjolras had known all along that their relationship wouldn’t last forever, _couldn’t_ last when they lived so far apart and barely saw each other and didn’t know when or if that was ever going to change.

Enjolras glanced at the little clock on his laptop screen. He still had more than enough time to go. He could show up late. It wouldn’t matter as long as he showed up. With a sigh, Enjolras opened his blog and started typing. He still had time to think about it.

He made himself coffee, checked the time, paced back and forth in his room for a bit, glanced at the clock again, published his blog entry, then he closed his laptop with a weary sigh. Combeferre had been right. Of course he’d been right. Enjolras owed Grantaire this, he couldn’t just hide out in his apartment. He needed to go talk to him.

* * *

“He’s not here, is he?” Grantaire asked when he found Combeferre and Courfeyrac waiting for him backstage. It really wasn’t the nicest of greetings, but somehow he’d already been expecting that Enjolras wouldn’t show up.

The lack of texts during the last couple of weeks had been a pretty good indicator. Grantaire hadn’t even asked Enjolras if he was going to come by, scared of the answer he was likely to get.

“He’s not feeling well,” Courfeyrac said.

“He got held up at work,” Combeferre said at the same time.

“Right, that,” Courfeyrac mumbled, looking embarrassed. “Well, the show was great. We had a lot of fun.”

Combeferre nodded. “We really did.”

“Well, thanks for coming,” Grantaire said, letting out a surprised huff when Courfeyrac gave him a tight hug. “Okay,” he muttered, awkwardly patting Courfeyrac’s back. “Do you guys want a drink or something? They also got us some food.”

“You have food?” Courfeyrac asked and quickly let go of him.

Grantaire snorted and made sure Courfeyrac had a sandwich and handed out beers and signed a couple of things and took photos with people who’d somehow managed to get backstage because they knew someone who was doing security or maybe someone in his support act or maybe they just knew someone who knew someone who’d been able to sneak them inside.

There were a lot of _thank you_ s and _you’re welcome_ s and a couple of phrases exchanged in French, because for some reason people really liked it when Grantaire tried to speak the language of the country he was in. It was pretty easy in France, but it would be a little harder once he got to Germany.

“Sorry,” Grantaire said once he’d returned to Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

“You’re so famous,” Courfeyrac said, reaching out to touch his arm. “I know an actual famous person.”

“I’m not actually famous,” Grantaire mumbled.

“You just played a sold out show,” Combeferre said matter-of-factly. “And I keep hearing your songs on the radio, you know?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Yeah, I listened to that radio interview you did this morning.”

Well, maybe some people knew about him. Grantaire grinned. “Okay, you can stop now.”

Combeferre laughed. “We were just proving a point. Will you be recording another album?”

“Probably, yeah.” He had a couple of songs already written, most of them from after Enjolras had left New York, two or three from before, although Grantaire wasn’t sure whether or not he actually wanted to record those.

“That’s great,” Courfeyrac said. He actually looked delighted about it.

“I’ll make sure you get a copy in advance.”

“I’m glad that you think you’ll still remember your old friend Courf when you’re a world-famous singer in a couple of months.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Grantaire said and gave him a nudge.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “We’re just proud of you, okay? Even though we’ve only known you for a little while.”

For a moment Grantaire wasn’t quite sure what to say to him. Eventually he cleared his throat. “I, um… thank you.”

“So,” Combeferre said, apparently sensing that Grantaire wasn’t actually too comfortable right now, “where are you going tomorrow? Are you playing any more shows in France?”

“No, I’m actually headed to Germany to play a couple of festivals,” Grantaire said. Really, he was starting to have trouble to keep track of where he was going when. Bahorel had printed out the tour schedule for him, but Grantaire often forgot to check, just made sure that the bus didn’t leave without him.

Bahorel himself appeared about half an hour later to tell him that they’d be ready to leave soon, but then decided that he’d rather catch up with Courfeyrac and Combeferre for a bit. They had to leave eventually, though, so Grantaire hugged Combeferre and Courfeyrac goodbye and promised he’d send them pictures and keep them updated on what he was up to.

“Do you want us to…” Courfeyrac bit his lip. “I mean, we could–”

“Tell him I said hi,” Grantaire mumbled. “And that I hope he feels better soon. Or that he gets all of his work done soon. Whatever excuse you wanna go with.” He sighed. “I’m not mad, honestly, I figured that he might not come.”

“Still,” Combeferre said. For a second he looked like he was going to apologize on behalf of Enjolras. “We’ll tell him to call you.”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire said, even though all of this was nowhere even near _okay_. He’d had four weeks to prepare for this, although right after Enjolras had left he’d thought that things might eventually work out between them, or maybe that had just been wishful thinking. In truth, them deciding to take a break had been nothing but an easy way out. He’d known how things were going to end from the second that Enjolras had said that they needed to talk.

“Enjoy the rest of your tour,” Courfeyrac said, sounding a lot less cheerful now than he usually did. “And hopefully we’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Sure,” Grantaire said, although he didn’t have the slightest clue when he’d be coming back to Europe. He walked out the back door with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. There were a handful of people waiting for him there, but the only one Grantaire saw was Enjolras, standing at the very end of the line, eyes firmly fixed on him.

“Hey R, can I have a photo with you?”

Grantaire quickly snapped out of it and turned to the girl right next to him, nodding and posing for a photo with her, still a little dazed, because _Enjolras was here_. He tried to work his way past the waiting people as quickly as he could, could hear Combeferre whisper to Enjolras, “We’ll wait for you over there”, then he and Courfeyrac were gone and Grantaire found himself face to face with Enjolras.

“They wouldn’t let me in,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire sighed and took Enjolras by the arm, tugging him with him behind their bus, away from prying eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come,” Grantaire said. He fished his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one, just to keep his hands occupied somehow.

“I wasn’t going to at first,” Enjolras said. “But I thought we should talk.”

“I know, we–”

“Grantaire, are you ready to– Oh, hey… Enjolras.” Bahorel looked at the two of them with his eyebrows raised. “I’ll just wait on the bus.”

Grantaire nodded, waiting until he’d left before he turned back to Enjolras. “Look…”

“I get it,” Enjolras said, persistently not looking at Grantaire. “And I know that you have to leave, I just…” He took a step closer, finally looking him in the eye, holding out a hand.

Grantaire stubbed out his cigarette and took his hand, squeezing it lightly before he pulled Enjolras into a hug. “I’m sorry,” Grantaire mumbled into Enjolras’ shirt. “I was thinking about visiting you this afternoon, but then I remembered you were at work. You never told me what it’s like, you know?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were interested. You didn’t tell me what you were up to either,” Enjolras said flatly.

“Yeah, I guess I just didn’t have anything interesting to tell and I thought…” He trailed off, nuzzling at Enjolras’ neck. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“So,” Enjolras whispered, “what now?”

“I think we both know.”

Enjolras’ arms tightened around him. “Yes, I suppose we do.”

“We’ll stay in touch, yeah?” Grantaire pulled away, still holding Enjolras hand.

Enjolras nodded, but didn’t say a word. It was strange, because usually Enjolras always had _something_ to say. Grantaire sighed and gave him another hug, wishing they had a little more time to talk, wondering whether or not he should ask Enjolras if he could kiss him one last time.

“Combeferre and Courfeyrac are waiting for me,” Enjolras muttered. “And a whole bus of people is waiting for you.”

Grantaire shrugged. “They’re used to it.”

The corner of Enjolras’ mouth gave a twitch. “I’ll talk to you soon,” he said.

“Okay,” Grantaire mumbled. He really wasn’t sure what else to say and before he could think of something, Enjolras had already leaned down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

* * *

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay without us?”

“Of course I’m going to be okay,” Enjolras grumbled. He’d just have to figure out how to fill those two empty rooms. He’d manage.

“Combeferre will check on you and make sure you eat vegetables every now and then,” Courfeyrac said and flopped down on his bed to give him a tight hug. “And I’ll come by and distract you from all your work, it’ll be just like the good old times.”

“You haven’t even moved out yet,” Enjolras said dryly.

“But we will tomorrow night,” Courfeyrac reminded him, gently ruffling his hair. “It’s okay to call us and tell us that you want us to come back.”

Enjolras laughed. “Don’t worry about me.”

“No, but I am worried about you,” Courfeyrac said, looking serious all of a sudden. “You spend all of your time working and I know that you’re trying to distract yourself and that’s okay, but maybe you should think about taking up a hobby, you know?”

“I’m okay.”

“I’ll put together a list with suggestions,” Courfeyrac went on. “How do you feel about bowling?”

“No,” Enjolras said, shaking his head. He’d never gone bowling before, but he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be very good at it.

“Okay, what about–”

“No,” Enjolras said again. “I don’t need a hobby. I don’t need a distraction from Grantaire. I’m fine. I just have a lot of work to do. Cosette and I have to organize a couple of events and I was thinking we could organize a charity auction and Joly said that they were looking for volunteers at the children’s hospital, so maybe I’ll help him look for people.”

“But you don’t need a distraction,” Courfeyrac said and patted him on the back.

“Those things are important.”

“Yes, of course they are, but you can’t just work twenty-four hours a day. Promise you’ll think about the hobby thing? You like reading, you could join a book club.”

“What about our group, doesn’t that count?”

“Not really,” Courfeyrac said. “But I’ll think of something you’ll like, just you wait.” He patted Enjolras on the back. “I’ll go make dinner. Do you want to help? Or… we can talk if there’s something you want to talk about.”

“I don’t want to talk about Grantaire.” Or maybe he just wasn’t sure what to tell Courfeyrac. Talking to Grantaire hadn’t changed anything. Not that Enjolras had expected it to change anything.

“Right, okay.” Courfeyrac kissed his cheek and then leaned his head against Enjolras’ shoulder.

“I thought you were going to make dinner?”

“I think I’ll stay here for a bit,” Courfeyrac said. “Combeferre won’t mind if we just order pizza.”

Enjolras only hummed and didn’t make another attempt at convincing Courfeyrac that he was doing just fine. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t actually mind cuddling with Courfeyrac for a little while. 

* * *

“You’re fucking miserable.”

Grantaire stopped playing and looked over at Jehan, who came waltzing into his room, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of cookies. “I’m okay,” Grantaire muttered, but put down his guitar and scooted over to make space for Jehan on his bed. “Seriously, I’m not fucking miserable. If you must know, I haven’t fucked anyone in a while. Not even miserable.”

Jehan gave him a look somewhere between amusement and despair. “You’re not funny,” he said and handed Grantaire a mug of hot chocolate that was topped with a generous amount of marshmallows.

After sipping his hot chocolate in silence for a while, Jehan sighed. “You miss Enjolras,” he said lowly.

“And you’re stating the obvious,” Grantaire grumbled.

“There must be something I can do,” Jehan said and put an arm around him. “Unless you really want your next album to be full of depressing songs about how you’re never going to be happy again.” He paused, thinking. “Actually, that might sell really well. People love depressing songs. They can relate.”

Grantaire snorted and took a sip of his hot chocolate. “I’ll get over him. Just give me a couple of weeks and I’ll be the same old Grantaire you know and love again.” Honestly, he’d thought he was over it while he’d still been on tour, he’d had numerous distractions then, but then he’d got back to New York and the reality of things had just come crashing down on him.

He was going on tour again in September, but that was still two weeks away and even though he’d definitely needed the break, he wished he could just take off right now.

“I love you even when you’re miserable,” Jehan said and kissed his cheek. “You know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Grantaire mumbled. He really didn’t deserve a friend as wonderful as Jehan.  “You know, I promised him that we’d stay in touch, but talking to him…”

“It hurts, doesn’t it? It won’t always be like that, though.”

“But right now it is,” Grantaire said. “I mean, I know that you’re right, but I just can’t talk to him.”

“Give it time,” Jehan said and took Grantaire’s hand. “Let’s do something nice tonight.”

“Like what?”

“We could go to the movies, we haven’t been in a really long time. Or we could go that place that has the really great burgers. Or, if you don’t feel like going anywhere, we can order pizza and snuggle on the rooftop. Better yet, we could drink cheap wine on the rooftop. You can play your new depressing songs on the rooftop until one of our neighbors starts yelling at you. What do you think?”

“Yeah, the rooftop sounds good,” Grantaire muttered.

“Good. Maybe you can also write a happy song about pizza.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll give it a try.”

“I’ll take care of everything,” Jehan said and quickly emptied his hot chocolate. “Have a cookie,” he added and handed one to Grantaire before he slipped out of his room.

Grantaire sighed and took a bite of his cookie, trying his hardest not to think about anything at all.

* * *

Enjolras had never kept his new year’s resolutions. He’d tried, but he’d always given up two weeks into the new year. Mostly it had been things that Combeferre liked to point out to him – eat more vegetables, get enough sleep, drink less coffee. This year he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t look at Grantaire’s Twitter anymore. Or his Youtube channel. Or his Facebook page.

They’d exchanged some texts on Christmas and some more on New Year’s Eve, which was when Enjolras had given this phone to Combeferre, knowing that he’d tell Grantaire that he missed him at some point if he kept talking to him. And that would have been _so_ unfortunate.

Well, Enjolras had managed for a little over three months. Then he’d overheard Joly and Bossuet talking about Grantaire recording a new album.

When he’d got home, he’d turned on his laptop and now he was going through pictures Grantaire had posted. Apparently he’d recently been on tour in Australia. And there were pictures of a recording studio and pictures of Bahorel and Jehan, one of Feuilly strewn in between, one of a new guitar. There weren’t too many of Grantaire himself, but Enjolras had got stuck on one of them. It showed Grantaire, dark curls wild, grinning at something to his left that wasn’t in the picture.

Enjolras nearly jumped out of his skin when Simba brushed against his leg. It had been months since Enjolras had picked him up at a shelter, but sometimes he still snuck up on him. Enjolras picked him up and set him down on his lap, scratching him behind the ears, smiling when Simba started to purr.

Courfeyrac hadn’t stopped complaining ever since Enjolras had got him, because he’d chosen to adopt a cat after he’d already moved out.

Not having Courfeyrac and Combeferre around was still strange sometimes, especially when he’d had a long day at work and wanted to tell someone about it or when he didn’t want to have a movie night all on his own. Simba hadn’t proven to be a very good listener, he often left to eat or to find a nicer spot to lie down mid-conversation and he didn’t seem to like documentaries much either, although Enjolras had figured out that he didn’t mind taking naps with him.

He also didn’t mind playing with the balls of wool that Enjolras sometimes left lying around. Enjolras hadn’t actively been looking for a hobby, even though Courfeyrac had insisted. He’d emailed him a list with a total of 73 hobbies that he thought Enjolras could take up, together with links to websites of clubs and to how-to instructions and Wikipedia articles. At first Enjolras had ignored that list, because he had no interest in joining a hockey team or starting a stamp collection or doing something called extreme ironing.

But then knitting had caught his eye. His friends all proudly wore all the lumpy scarves that Enjolras had knitted for them. Right now Enjolras was working on his first pair of socks. He hadn’t got the hang of it just yet, but at least they were actually looking like socks.

When summer rolled around and no one had need for woolly socks, Enjolras knew how to knit them without even paying too much attention, so he’d moved on to knitting hats. It was going to be winter eventually.

“You’re knitting so fast, you’ll make more hats than any of us could ever possibly wear,” Courfeyrac said, watching Enjolras with wide eyes. He’d come by _just because_ , he’d said, and was now inspecting the half a dozen hats that Enjolras had already made. 

“Well, they don’t look too bad, I can donate them to shelters.” Enjolras shrugged. “Anyway, the blue one is for Cosette, she asked if she could have it and the one with the stripes is for Combeferre.”

“Why does Combeferre get a hat and I don’t?” Courfeyrac asked, sticking out his bottom lip.

“You can have one,” Enjolras said.

Courfeyrac grinned broadly and pulled a pink and purple beanie over his head. “I love you so much,” he whispered. “So, how have you been?”

“We saw each other two days ago,” Enjolras said dryly.

“A lot of things can happen in two days, you know?” Courfeyrac said. He looked nervous for some reason and Enjolras had no idea why. “A lot of things happened to me. I had really amazing pasta for lunch and I met a nice dog and Grantaire sent me a copy of his album even though it hasn’t even been released yet, isn’t that great?” Courfeyrac was still smiling by the end of it, but he wasn’t managing to keep it genuine anymore.

“Did he?” Enjolras only asked.

“Yeah, I… might have asked him for it?” Courfeyrac took a deep breath. “I didn’t think he’d actually do it, I mean, he sort of promised a while ago, but yeah, I was just like, hey Grantaire, remember your old friend Courfeyrac who’d really love to hear your new songs and absolutely can’t wait until the album is actually released, so he just sent me a copy, I got it in the mail today, and I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but I figured I had to. You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, of course not,” Enjolras said. “Why would I be?”

“Because I made your ex send me music.”

“Well, it’s not like I didn’t know that you guys were keeping in touch.”

“You know that,” Courfeyrac said flatly. “Well…”

“I know how twitter works, I saw you guys talk. It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay,” Courfeyrac said, smiling again. “That’s good.” He pulled a CD out of his bag and put it on the coffee table. “I brought it. I thought it was only fair to share it.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras mumbled. He wasn’t even sure if he was going to listen to it. This felt like something that he wasn’t actually allowed to have a part of. He’d hardly spoken to Grantaire, even though it had got a lot easier, even though he’d moved on, he just didn’t really know what to say to him. Grantaire’s life was so different now than it had been a year ago, Enjolras had no doubt that he had better things to do than reading silly texts about what Enjolras was doing.

“Oh no, I made you sad,” Courfeyrac whispered and scooted closer to give him a hug. “I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras said and wrapped his arms around Courfeyrac. “I still think about him sometimes at really random moments, you know?”

“Yeah, that happens.” Courfeyrac stroked his hair for a bit, then he pulled away. “Can I ask you something?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Sure.”

“Have you thought about going out with someone else? Because I know some people who–”

“No thanks,” Enjolras interrupted. “Really, I don’t have time for that right now.”

“I just want you to be happy, you know that, right?”

“Yes, of course I know that.”

“And you know that sometimes my suggestions aren’t even that bad,” Courfeyrac said, pointing at the beanie he was still wearing.

“I’ll admit that the knitting wasn’t a horrible idea, but still, I have no time for dates.”

“If you change your mind,” Courfeyrac said, “let me know, because I’ll totally find you someone who’s worthy of your awesomeness.”

“You don’t have to find anyone for me,” Enjolras said sternly.

“Right, I’ll shut up now,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

Enjolras smiled at him. “Thank you, though. For, you know…”

“Sure thing,” Courfeyrac said, grinning at him as he ruffled his hair, “I’m always just a phone call away.” They both fell silent for a moment, then Courfeyrac nudged him with his foot. “Hey, Enjolras?”

Enjolras turned to look at him. “What?”

“Can I play with Simba?”

* * *

“My guest today is singer-songwriter R. He’s here to tell us about his highly anticipated second album that’s out on October 23rd. Hello, R, thank you for joining me today.”

Grantaire smiled and nodded at the guy who was interviewing him. His name was Bob. Or Rob. Whatever. “Thank you for having me,” Grantaire said as cheerfully as he could manage. Not that he wasn’t glad that his album was being described as _highly anticipated_ , but he was getting so tired of all the interviews.

“I already had a listen and it’s a fantastic album. The first single, _Brooklyn_ , is already out. What’s so special about Brooklyn?”

Grantaire wished that interviewers would stop copying questions from each other. He had half a mind to make up a different story every time, but the guys from the label probably wouldn’t be too happy with him and Grantaire didn’t want to make their lives any harder. “Well,” he said, “Brooklyn is my home and even though I didn’t grow up there, it’s still a place I love. I thought it deserved a song.”

“It also deserves its place in the charts,” Rob, or maybe Bob, said with a chuckle. “Although there’s another song on your album, the last one, I believe, it’s called _Paris_ , but it doesn’t really sound like a love song about a place but more like it’s a love song about a person.”

Technically it wasn’t a question, although Grantaire was pretty sure that Rob wanted him to confirm his suspicion. “I suppose you could interpret it that way,” Grantaire said. The song was about Enjolras and to some people it was going to be glaringly obvious, but Grantaire surely wouldn’t tell some nosy interviewer.

Rob chuckled. _Again_. “Well, I’m sure some of your fans, especially your female friends, would be glad to hear that it’s not about a girl.”

“Well, for the benefit of my fans I’ll say that it’s not about a girl,” Grantaire said, grinning into the camera. “Although I do hope that my male and nonbinary fans will also be delighted by that.”

Rob looked a little taken aback for a moment.

“I’d like to think that no one is immune to my good looks and my charming personality,” Grantaire said. He fucking hated interviews.

Grantaire somehow made it through the rest of the questions without rolling his eyes or saying something he might come to regret at some point. He made sure to mention that he was going on tour in Europe and the US, then he was off to his next interview. This one was with some girl who owned a Youtube channel that Grantaire had never heard of. He was pretty sure that she knew someone at the label.

At least she was letting him answer fan questions. _Who inspires you? What’s your favorite song to play live? When are you coming back to the UK?_

By the time he got home he was fucking exhausted and more than happy to accept a huge portion of mac and cheese from Jehan. After that he tried to reply to some emails and also found one from his label guys, telling him that some UK music magazine wanted him on their cover. If there was one thing Grantaire hated more than interviews, it was the goddamned photoshoots. He never knew what to do and most of the time those photos turned out looking completely ridiculous.

He was still fretting about photographers who were really into completely unnatural poses and facial expressions when his phone made a quiet _ping_.

_Courfeyrac: grantaire ur coming to paris!!!_

_You: i am :)_

_Courfeyrac: !!!!!_

_You: don’t get a ticket when they go on sale_

_You: i’ll get you some_

_You: this time i have a day off in Paris so maybe we can hang out_

_Courfeyrac: yes we totally should but u don’t have to get tickets for us_

_You: it’s fine courf my friends get in for free just let me know how many of you guys will be coming_

_Courfeyrac: i’ll talk to ferre later_

_Courfeyrac: this is weird but_

_Courfeyrac: do u want me to ask enjolras?_

Did he want Courfeyrac to ask Enjolras. Honestly, he’d love to see Enjolras. Ever since they’d spoken after his last show in Paris over a year ago, Grantaire had only seen him on photos on Facebook or on Enjolras’ blog.

It would probably a really weird situation, but he was still friends with Enjolras. At least sort of. They exchanged texts here and there and Grantaire was perfectly fine with that. He really was.

_You: sure if he wants to come by he can_

_You: it’d be nice to see him again_

_Courfeyrac: k i’ll let u kno_

_Courfeyrac: i rly loved your album by the way i keep listening to it on repeat <3_

_You: thanks man_

_Courfeyrac: combeferre hates me because of it but i just can’t stop_

_Courfeyrac: he obviously loves the album too but yeah_

_You: :D_

_You: btw feel free to invite joly and bossuet_

_You: and cosette and her boyfriend_

_Courfeyrac: will do <3_

 * * *

“I’d like to think that no one is immune to my good looks and my charming personality.”

Enjolras groaned and hit pause. This had been such a horrible idea. He’d just wanted to watch the music video of _Brooklyn_ , he’d been interested, but then Youtube had suggested some interviews for him to watch and Enjolras, even though he should have known so much better, had clicked on one of them.

He was currently watching the seventh video.

Grantaire was still witty. And funny. And he was still wearing beanies and leather jackets, but there were new tattoos on his arms and he seemed to have misplaced his razor because he was _always_ scruffy. And the worst part was that Enjolras liked it. _A lot_. He’d always liked it, but now it was about a billion times more frustrating.

He’d be seeing Grantaire at the end of February, only a few weeks from now, and he really didn’t need to be reminded of this right now.

Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to meet him in the first place, but all his friends were going, and Enjolras had thought that he’d manage to spend a couple of hours with him. To be honest, Enjolras should be over Grantaire. It had been over a year since they’d broken up – Grantaire had moved on and Enjolras should have done the same.

He sighed and scrolled down to read the comments people had left under the video, just to see what people were saying. It was mostly ranging from _his music is so great I’ve been listening to Brooklyn all day_ to _omg hes so hot_ to _please come to brazil!!!_

Enjolras had listened to Brooklyn a couple of times as well, but he still hadn’t listened to the entire album. He’d tried, but it had always made him feel queasy somehow. Grantaire had often played songs for him, sometimes when they’d been talking on Skype or when Enjolras had been in New York with him and he’d loved listening to him, but now it just made him sad.

Eventually, Enjolras decided to just shut down his laptop and ignore the thoughts that were whirling around in his mind. He made himself a cup of tea, picked up Simba and curled up in bed with him to read a book.

* * *

Grantaire was okay. He was just fine. He was sitting at the same table as Enjolras and it was so very, very obvious that Enjolras wanted to somewhere else. Anywhere else. Grantaire had never seen him look so uncomfortable. Enjolras had barely said a word ever since he’d got here, which was a shame because Grantaire really wanted to talk to him. Grantaire didn’t even know what about and why, but they hadn’t talked face to face in such a long time and he didn’t want to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

But Enjolras only kept shifting in his seat, glancing at his watch, as if he couldn’t wait to the leave the Musain and go home.

At least everyone else seemed to be in a great mood. Joly and Bossuet were busy drinking Grantaire under the table, although Grantaire had dropped out of the competition four beers ago. It had only taken one look from Bahorel to remind him that he had to do a TV interview at fuck o’clock in the morning, followed by a couple of interviews and a show in the evening. Grantaire had got through days like that with a hangover before and he’d sworn off any repeat performances a while ago.

“Our apartment is great,” Courfeyrac was telling him, “although our landlord won’t let us have any pets, which means we’ll have to move at some point, because I want at least two dogs.”

“We’ll probably stay there for a little while longer, though,” Combeferre said, giving Courfeyrac a stern look.

Courfeyrac stuck out his tongue at him. “I’m just so jealous of Enjolras because he has Simba.”

“Simba?” Grantaire asked, still looking at Courfeyrac although he should probably be looking at Enjolras.

“Enjolras’ cat,” Courfeyrac said. “Enjolras, show him the really cute picture you have on your phone.”

Enjolras very slowly pulled his phone out of his pocket and then handed it over to show Grantaire his lock screen, which was a photo of an orange tabby cat playing with a big red ball of wool.

“He’s adorable,” Grantaire said, giving back the phone with a smile.

Enjolras smiled at him in turn, holding Grantaire’s gaze for a long moment. “He is when he’s not trying to steal my wool.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Your wool?”

“Enjolras has taken up knitting,” Combeferre said when Enjolras didn’t answer and pointed at his scarf. “He’s very good at it.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Grantaire said. He could totally imagine Enjolras knitting with a cat in his lap.

“Yes, well…” Enjolras cleared his throat. “I should leave soon. I have to go to work early tomorrow morning.”

“We all do,” Courfeyrac said. He bit his lip when Combeferre gave him a nudge. “Well, I guess you could use some sleep.”

Enjolras nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Goodbyes were exchanged and Grantaire mumbled something of that sort, staring after Enjolras as he left. He sat there pondering for a few minutes, then Combeferre leaned closer to him. “I can’t tell you whether or not he might appreciate you going after him,” he mumbled. “But I have a feeling that you want to talk to him, so I suppose it’s worth a try.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “He’s right. I guess you won’t have time tomorrow, so…”

“We’ll have fun without you,” Joly said and put an arm around Bahorel.

Bahorel grinned and punched Grantaire in the upper arm. “Make sure you show up in time for the TV thing, alright?”

“Why? Aren’t you gonna wake me up tomorrow?”

“Just in case you don’t make it back to the hotel because you decide to spend the night somewhere else,” Bahorel said with a shrug.

“I will make it back,” Grantaire said and rolled his eyes. He didn’t even want to think about spending the night somewhere else. He wasn’t going to. But he did want to talk to Enjolras. “I’ll see you guys and Cosette and Marius tomorrow.”

Grantaire waved at everyone, then he picked up his jacket and followed Enjolras out the door. Enjolras had a bit of a head start and he was walking fast, but Grantaire could still see him down the street, knowing he was about to turn the corner into the street he lived in.

Grantaire almost broke into a sprint to catch up with him. “Enjolras…” he said once he’d reached him.

Enjolras turned to look at him but didn’t stop walking. “I’m sorry I left so early, it’s not like I didn’t want to see you, I promise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Grantaire muttered. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” Enjolras asked.

Quite frankly, Grantaire still didn’t know. He just wanted to be around him. Which was bad. “I just feel like we never really had enough time to talk things through.”

“I wasn’t aware that there was anything to talk about.”

“You could tell me about Simba,” Grantaire said. “Or about the knitting.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, shaking his head, “this is…” He huffed. “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to talk to you. I miss talking to you.”

Enjolras started walking faster, his jaw set. “Well, you don’t get to miss talking to me, because you broke up with me.”

“Wait a second,” Grantaire said, trying to keep up, “I didn’t break up with you. _We_ broke up. Both of us decided that there was no future for us. Me _and_ you.”

“ _You_ wanted to take a break.”

Grantaire let out an angry huff. This was so not his fault. “And _you_ agreed.”

“Yes, but _you_ …” Enjolras stopped in his tracks, still panting.

“What?”

“I live here,” Enjolras said, pointing at the building they were standing next to.

Right, Grantaire had been here before, but he hadn’t even noticed. “You do,” he said.

“You can’t come inside.”

“No, wait a second, we need to talk about this,” Grantaire said. He wasn’t going to leave when Enjolras thought that their break-up was Grantaire’s fault.

“It’s not my fault that we never did,” Enjolras shot back.

“You’re unbelievable,” Grantaire grumbled. “You could have just said something if you wanted to talk.”

Enjolras sighed and pulled his keys out of his bag. “Fine, come in.”

Grantaire followed him upstairs, pulling off his jacket and taking off his shoes, grinning when Simba came flitting out of Enjolras’ living room. Grantaire immediately picked him up. “He’s so adorable.”

Enjolras only gave him a look that said something along the lines of _I didn’t think you were here to play with my cat_.

“Right,” Grantaire said and put down Simba. “So, why exactly are you trying to blame me for our break-up?”

“I’m not _blaming_ you,” Enjolras said. He slipped off his coat and hung it up, then he turned back around to look at Grantaire. “I’m just saying that it was your idea.”

“Yes, you said that. It was an idea that you agreed to.”

“That doesn’t change that you brought it up in the first place.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m just saying,” Enjolras said lowly, “I have no idea what you want from me. Why did you follow me earlier?”

“I said I missed talking to you,” Grantaire replied. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Well, talking to you isn’t as pleasant as it used to be because it reminds me…” Enjolras trailed off, swallowing hard. “I know we said we’d still be friends and that we’d keep in touch, but it’s been one and a half years and somehow I’m still not over you. You know, sometimes I think that I am, but then I see a picture of you or hear one of your songs and I realize that I’m really not.” He took a deep breath. “I just want to stop missing you.”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, I know how that feels.”

Enjolras sighed, his shoulders slumping as if he was admitting defeat. He raised his arms and asked, “May I?”

Grantaire nodded and ended up right in Enjolras’ arms. He was pretty sure that they’d both been going in for a hug at first, but somehow his lips had ended up right on Enjolras’ and since Enjolras wasn’t pulling away, Grantaire put his arms around him to pull him even closer.

* * *

“This is…” Enjolras’ breath hitched when Grantaire kissed down his neck. “This is,” he started again, “such a bad idea.”

“I agree,” Grantaire said, his voice rough. “We should stop.”

“We should,” Enjolras muttered. He didn’t even know how this had happened. What he did know was that he had Grantaire pinned to a wall, his thigh between his legs, pressing as close as he possibly could while Grantaire was busy making sure that Enjolras wouldn’t be taking off his scarf at work for the next couple of days.

Grantaire tugged at Enjolras’ shirt. “ _Or_ ,” he said, looking up at Enjolras with wide eyes, “you could take this off.”

Enjolras sighed and took a step back. For a second Grantaire almost looked disappointed, then Enjolras yanked off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. Simba was probably going to find it and make a nest of it, but Enjolras really didn’t have time to even think about picking it up right now.

Grantaire laughed breathlessly and pushed himself off the wall, meeting Enjolras in a languid kiss, his hands mapping out the expanse of Enjolras’ back, dipping down to the waistband of his jeans. “Still a bad idea,” Grantaire mumbled against Enjolras’ lips. He gave him a quick kiss, then he moved back down his neck, along his collarbones, even further down to bite at one of Enjolras’ nipples.

Enjolras let out a whine that quickly turned into a groan when Grantaire palmed him through his jeans. Enjolras’ fingers curled into the fabric of Grantaire’s shirt, slowly pushing him down the hall, towards his bedroom.

Stopping dead in the doorway, leaning against the frame, Grantaire let out a quiet sigh. “Still haven’t figured out how to fill all these rooms, huh?”

Enjolras only shrugged. He’d moved his desk and his shelves into Courfeyrac’s old room to make a study out of it, so only his bed and his closet were left in his bedroom. He’d been thinking about buying _something_ to make his room look less empty, but so far he hadn’t found the time.

Grantaire hummed, fingers slowly skimming down Enjolras’ sides. “Enjolras… If you told me to leave, I’d leave.”

“But I don’t want you to leave,” Enjolras said. He took Grantaire by the hand and led him into his dark bedroom, pulling off Grantaire’s shirt, his jeans, his boxers. He pulled away to get rid of his own jeans, Grantaire pulled off his socks and flopped down on Enjolras’ bed, waiting for Enjolras with a faint smile on his face.

Enjolras joined him, hovering inches from his face, half-illuminated by the hallway light. He leaned down to kiss Grantaire, slowly aligning his body with Grantaire’s, bringing their hips together, their cocks sliding against each other.

Neither of them was in a hurry to get on with it, so it was just lazy kisses and entangled limbs for a while until Grantaire reached down to wrap his fingers around Enjolras’ cock, stroking him slowly, swallowing Enjolras’ moans with his mouth. Enjolras was close far too soon, so he wrapped his fingers around Grantaire’s wrist, pulling his hand away. “Not like this,” Enjolras said. His voice somehow didn’t sound like his own.

Grantaire nodded and rolled onto his front, propping himself up on all fours. He looked at Enjolras over his shoulder, smirking at him. “That better?”

Enjolras regarded him for a long moment, the palm of his hand resting on the small of Grantaire’s back, wondering whether or not he’d be crossing a line if he asked Grantaire to turn back around again because he wanted to look at him.

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Or do you want to–”

“No,” Enjolras said and fished his lube and a condom out of his nightstand. He hadn’t needed those in a while, but he decided not to dwell on the thought.

Enjolras tried to be as thorough as he could with preparing Grantaire, getting a little impatient himself when Grantaire kept pushing back against his fingers, moaning into Enjolras’ pillow.

“Fuck, Enjolras,” Grantaire breathed, “would you just… fuck me already?”

“Just a second,” Enjolras mumbled. He curled his fingers, which earned him a groan from Grantaire, and then pulled them out and rolled on the condom before he slowly left a trail of kisses up Grantaire’s spine. When he reached his neck, Enjolras gently sucked and bit at the skin there.

“Jesus, you want me to go on stage covered in hickeys tomorrow, don’t you?”

Honestly, Enjolras was just getting his revenge for earlier, but he actually liked that idea way as well.  “Sorry,” Enjolras whispered, tilting his head so he could kiss Grantaire’s cheek instead.

“It’s fine, just…” Grantaire whined when Enjolras pushed in without much of a warning.

Enjolras wasn’t able to uphold the pace he set in the beginning, was too close again much too soon, so he slowed down again and reached around Grantaire to stroke him in time with his thrusts, speeding them up again when he realized that Grantaire was close as well, muttering curses, his breathing ragged.

“Shit, Enjolras, I…” Grantaire pressed his face into Enjolras’ pillow as he came, but it only barely muffled his drawn-out moan. Enjolras followed right behind, collapsing on top of Grantaire for a moment, his nose pressed into Grantaire’s sweaty curls.

Grantaire grumbled something unintelligible when Enjolras eventually moved. When Enjolras got up to throw the condom in the trash, Grantaire scooted off the wet spot on Enjolras’ duvet, smiling lazily.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and went to turn off the hallway lights, then he pulled the duvet out from under Grantaire with a sigh. It was chilly in his room, so he slipped under the covers. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked Grantaire.

“Is that an invitation?” Grantaire asked, but did join Enjolras under the covers before he got an answer.

Enjolras inched a little closer. Grantaire was warm and Enjolras would have loved to curl around him, but Grantaire might be leaving later on. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” Grantaire whispered. “I mean, this was… it was, yeah. But…”

Enjolras planted a kiss on Grantaire’s shoulder, his lips brushing against his skin when he said, “But nothing has changed.”

“No,” Grantaire muttered. “Not really. You’re still here. I’m still in New York. I mean, I usually am.”

Well, Grantaire wasn’t wrong about that and Enjolras was too tired to speculate about _what if_ s and _maybe_ s, because he knew that it would be going nowhere. “Are you at least staying the night?” Enjolras asked.

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” Grantaire said, inching closer.

Enjolras wrapped an arm around him and cuddled closer, startling when Grantaire let out a shriek. “What?”

“Your feet are icy, holy shit,” Grantaire muttered.

“The floor was cold,” Enjolras whispered.

Grantaire let out a quiet snort and pulled the sheets around them more tightly. Enjolras hid his face in the crook of Grantaire’s neck, wondering if this was the last time he’d get to do this, eventually drifting off to sleep.

The next morning Enjolras was woken up by the sound of Grantaire’s blaring phone. Apparently Bahorel was calling Grantaire to tell him that if he didn’t get his ass moving soon, he’d be late for his radio interview.

Enjolras made him some toast for breakfast while Grantaire quickly jumped in the shower, appearing in the kitchen ten minutes later, wearing his rumpled clothes from the day before, his hair still dripping.

“Thank you,” Grantaire said as he accepted a piece of toast and a cup of coffee from Enjolras. He gulped down the coffee at a speed that couldn’t be healthy and took a huge bite of his toast. “I should, um…” He pointed at the door. “Is there something we need to talk about?”

 _Yes_ , Enjolras wanted to say, but all the talking wouldn’t change a thing. He shook his head. “No, we’re good.”

“Okay,” Grantaire muttered and quickly finished his toast. “Well, I’ll see you at the show tonight?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, “see you later.”

* * *

Grantaire wasn’t sure for how long exactly he’d been staring out the window, he was just dimly aware that he should probably stop and try to get shit done at some point. He had a huge box full of fan mail sitting on his desk, but he hadn’t even managed to open it yet.

Instead he’d sat down by his window to smoke when he’d got up, watching people walk by with their dogs and their shopping bags. Now it was raining and people were hurrying down the street, eager to get back inside. He could see Jehan turn the corner with his bright pink umbrella a while later, carrying two bags with the logo of Grantaire’s favorite takeout place.

A few minutes later Jehan joined him by the window, smiling at him as he handed him a box with spring rolls. “How was your date?”

Grantaire made a face. “I snuck out of her place at three in the morning, does that answer your question?”

“Aw man, I’m sorry,” Jehan said and stole a spring roll from Grantaire. “She seemed so nice.”

“She was,” Grantaire said. Not only nice, but also funny, and she hadn’t known about his music, which was a big plus these days.

“But?” Jehan asked. “Was she a Republican or something?”

Grantaire laughed. “No, I don’t think so. We talked about all kinds of stuff, you know? I had fun and I’m pretty sure she did, too. And then she told me that she really likes Reese’s Pieces and all I could think about was that Enjolras really loved those, too.” Grantaire laughed. “Honestly, that’s just so fucking ridiculous.

“Grantaire,” Jehan said, “I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life, but… you can’t keep going like this.”

“I can. Everything’s just peachy.”

“You miss him.”

“Sometimes,” Grantaire had to admit. “I just feel like I shouldn’t. It’s been ages.” Two years since they’d broken up, nearly half a year since they’d last seen each other, but they’d talked just a couple of days ago. And they’d talked for hours, just like they used to when they’d first met.

Jehan hummed, obviously thinking. “Well,” he said, “this might be a really bad idea, but as you said, it’s been a while since you two broke up and you obviously still want to be with him, so maybe you should give it another try. Go see him. You know, in Paris.”

“I can’t just go to Paris,” Grantaire said. The mere thought was, well, actually it was pretty exciting. He wanted to see Enjolras. But still. He couldn’t just drop everything and fly to France.

“Why not? I know that you can easily afford a flight to Paris, so don’t even try to use that as an excuse,” Jehan said.

“But…” What if Enjolras didn’t want to see him. What if Enjolras had moved on in the last couple of months, what if–

“Enjolras isn’t seeing anyone else. Neither are you.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “How do you even know that?”

“Well, I live with you and all you do is sneak out of people’s apartments because they’re not Enjolras.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to protest, but Jehan was sort of right.

“And I talk to Courfeyrac,” Jehan went on. “A lot. He tells me things.”

“ _Things_ ,” Grantaire echoed.

Jehan smirked and started tapping away on his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking up flights to Paris,” Jehan said.

“Dude, seriously, I can’t just go to Paris and show up on his doorstep and say something like, I have no idea what I’m actually doing here, but I missed you, so I thought I’d come by.”

“You should also buy him flowers,” Jehan suggested. “And you’ll have a 9-hour-flight to think about what you want to say.”

“This is a horrible idea,” Grantaire said and reached for Jehan’s phone to see how soon he could go to Paris.

When he arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport three days later, rumpled and jetlagged, Grantaire realized that he hadn’t thought this through. Yeah, so Jehan had said that he’d have nine hours to think about what to say to Enjolras, but what actually lay behind him were nine hours of panicking.

Movies always made it look so easy. Grand romantic gestures worked in fiction, but not in real life. He couldn’t just go and knock on Enjolras’ door and hand him a bunch of flowers and expect everything to turn out alright in the end. First of all, it was barely past noon, so Enjolras was at work. And Grantaire did know Enjolras well, so he also knew that he’d be at work longer than every other normal human being. Which meant that Grantaire had half a day to kill. At least that gave him a few more hours to think things through.

He checked into his not-as-shitty-as-expected hotel and then started wandering about the city. It was cool for September, but not unpleasantly so, which was why Grantaire ended up spending most of the day outside. Still panicking, but telling himself that he had things under control. He bought a bouquet of flowers from a nice old lady, bought himself some dinner and then, after panicking a little more, just for good measure, he started walking in the direction of the street that Enjolras lived in. He walked slowly. Very, very slowly.

The closer he got, the more sensible it seemed to just turn around. It was pretty likely that Enjolras was just going to slam the door shut in his face.

Grantaire sighed and decided to take a detour, peering into cafés and little supermarkets and bookshops and dry cleaner’s as he walked past and eventually turned left into Enjolras’ street. Maybe he shouldn’t have bought flowers. Maybe he should have stayed in fucking New York.

* * *

It wasn’t that Enjolras disliked cooking. His main problem was that he just wasn’t very good at it. When Courfeyrac had put together a list of hobbies for him to take up, _take cooking classes_ had also been amongst his suggestions. Maybe he should have done that instead of starting to knit. Because then he might have not left the stove on when he went to answer the door.

Well, Enjolras wasn’t expecting whoever was ringing his doorbell to demand his attention for very long. He pushed the button for the intercom. “Yes?”

“Hey, um…”

Enjolras froze. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. That was most definitely Grantaire. Who should be in New York. And not _here_. “Grantaire?”

“Yeah, hi,” Grantaire said.

“What…” Enjolras shook his head. Maybe he should let him in first and ask questions later. Enjolras pressed the buzzer for the door. “Come up.”

Enjolras opened the door, listening as Grantaire slowly climbed the stairs up to his apartment, smiling at him when he appeared on the stairs. He was carrying flowers, which he handed to Enjolras.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

“Buying me flowers?” Enjolras asked.

“Yeah, that.” Grantaire shrugged. “Jehan said… Never mind, I just… yeah, I guess I bought you flowers.”

Vaguely, Enjolras knew what that meant, but there was still a multitude of questions on the tip of his tongue and he had no idea which one to ask first.

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. “Something smells weird.”

Right, Enjolras had been cooking dinner. “Shit,” he whispered. “I… come in, I just need to…” He left Grantaire standing in his doorway, hoping he’d just come inside while Enjolras darted into the kitchen, quickly put down the flowers and then pulled his now burnt scrambled eggs off the stove.

“There goes dinner,” Grantaire said, smirking at Enjolras as he stepped into the kitchen as well.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ve never been much of a cook.” He looked at Grantaire for a moment. “So, you’re here.”

Grantaire nodded, biting his lip.

“For work?” Enjolras asked.

“No, not for work,” Grantaire replied. He buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Enjolras picked up the flowers. “Just to buy me these?”

“That’s pretty much what it comes down to, yeah,” Grantaire said. “Maybe you should put those in a vase.”

Enjolras did, shooting Grantaire glances all the while. “Do you want anything? Like coffee or tea or… well, I don’t think I have any food left.”

“That’s alright,” Grantaire said. “Although you should probably still find yourself some dinner.”

Enjolras shook his head. This was all a little surreal. He needed answers first. “But what are you doing here? I mean other than getting me flowers.”

Grantaire looked down at his feet, shrugging. “I wanted to see you.”

“So you flew to Paris? Because you wanted to see me?”

Grantaire sighed, looking up again. “I missed you.”

Enjolras’ heart was hammering in his chest. “You missed me.”

“I know that this is ridiculous,” Grantaire said lowly. “I mean, we talked about this months ago and nothing’s different, as I said, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, but I just can’t seem to forget about you and I just figured I needed to do something. Well, Jehan did, but yeah.”

Enjolras let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

“But–”

“I’m going to New York,” Enjolras interrupted. It wasn’t official yet, but Enjolras still felt like now was a good time to mention it. Valjean had wanted Cosette to go back to New York for a year to replace one of the women on the team there because she was going on maternity leave, but Cosette had been reluctant to go back since Marius was in Paris.

Enjolras had volunteered to go. And yes, maybe Grantaire had been at the back of his mind when he’d made that decision, but he’d also really liked New York and he didn’t mind helping Valjean out. He’d be working with Feuilly again and after a year he’d be going back to Paris.

“Wait, when?”

“In four months,” Enjolras said. “I’ll still be working for Valjean.”

“But what about Paris?”

“I’ll only be there for about a year,” Enjolras said. “Actually I’ve been thinking about…” He shrugged. “Well, I was obviously going to tell you, but I wouldn’t want you to think that I have expectations. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to going out on a date. With you. Only if you wanted to, though.”

Grantaire’s eyes had steadily gone wider. “You’re coming to New York.”

“I guess I should have told you before you came all the way here,” Enjolras said.

“No,” Grantaire said, smiling at him now, “I’m really glad I came.” He slowly came walking over to him, holding out his hand. “And I like that idea you had.”

Enjolras took his hand, pulling him closer. “Which one?”

“The one where we’re going out on a date when you’re in New York.”

“I’m not so sure what’s going to happen when I go back to Paris, though,” Enjolras said. Strangely enough, he’d thought about that. He wasn’t going to stay in New York forever, he’d miss Paris way too much, so even if things worked out between him and Grantaire, they’d still be back to right where they were now once Enjolras moved back to Paris.

“Well, I guess we have a year to figure that out,” Grantaire said.

“You’re not usually that optimistic,” Enjolras mused.

“Well, you know, it’s not bad to try something new every now and then, right?”

“Right,” Enjolras said, a smile tugging at his lips. “So…”

“So,” Grantaire echoed. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Well, I guess I could start with kissing you.”

“That’s a pretty good idea,” Grantaire said, standing on his tiptoes, so Enjolras only had to tilt his head to give him a soft kiss.

“I have some other ideas,” Enjolras muttered, accompanied by his stomach rumbling, “but I think I should find myself something to eat first.”

“Go ahead,” Grantaire said, winking at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

Grantaire was pretty sure that there had never been a time when he hadn’t been nervous about picking Enjolras up at the airport. Even though this time things were different. They weren’t together. Not really. But Grantaire had a feeling that they were getting there again.

Enjolras had told him over and over again that Grantaire didn’t have to pick him up, but as soon as he’d mentioned that he wouldn’t mind if Grantaire showed up at the airport, Grantaire had promised that he’d be there.  

He’d put on the red beanie that Enjolras had given to him back in Paris, so he’d see him right away, and he’d also bought a pack of Reese’s Pieces as a welcome present.

Enjolras had written him a couple of texts the day before, telling him how hard it had been to say goodbye to Simba, who’d be staying with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta for the year. He’d also admitted that he might have shed a tear or two. Grantaire was pretty sure that Enjolras had had the same problem when he’d had to say goodbye to his friends at the airport.

When Enjolras came walking towards him, he didn’t look all that sad, though. He waved at Grantaire, swiftly walked over to him and gave him a languid kiss. “Hello,” he said when he’d pulled away.

“You kissed me,” Grantaire said, smiling up at him.

“I guess I did,” Enjolras said and did it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading this series and for leaving comments and kudos!
> 
> And thanks to tumblr user michellicopter for drawing [the thing](http://michellicopter.tumblr.com/post/79705307030/give-me-fic-where-enjolras-and-grantaire-meet) that this whole series is based on.
> 
> Check out my [writing blog](http://musains.tumblr.com/) if you want!
> 
> (And in case you were wondering, yes, extreme ironing is actually a thing that exists.)


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